


William Afton's super fun exciting fantastic adventures in parenting.

by spaghetti_garrote



Category: Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: Drunk Driving, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Kinda, Pre-Canon, because im scatter brained like that, each chapter will not be strictly related to the last, i let william drink once and thats it, no beta we die like children lured by a bunny man, william afton's a+ parenting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-13 09:00:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29524011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spaghetti_garrote/pseuds/spaghetti_garrote
Summary: michael likes to imagine he deserves a better father.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 34





	1. Midnight motorist

1984

Michael Afton can see his father's reflection in the large square television in the living room from the stairs. He's scribbling furiously and making that face again- he hates it when he makes that face. All his teeth are showing as he breathes loudly, hunched over his work, his eyes are wide, but Michael can't seem to actually see them beneath his mess of greying red-brown hair. 

His father has his back facing him so if he's quiet he can plausibly make it down the stairs and past him without him noticing. He just wants to slip out of the house with his friends, no trouble except maybe a 0.0000001% alcohol beer watered down with fruit punch and popcorn. _He needs to get away from this house_. He can see his sneakers at the front door, and already has his tan fleece lined jacket on. He'll grab his shoes at dash out the door before father can even say a word. 

He takes the first step slowly, no creaking so far, then the next, always testing his intuition with his toes, grazing the surface of the steps before pressing his weight into them.

Mr. Afton lets out a weak laugh, dropping his pen and clutching his head. The laugh is quickly becoming an agonizing sob, quiet and miserable. Michael freezes. _God what is father on now?_

He takes another step, around the edges he stands, careful not to put too much pressure on the railing, but still using it to lighten his own steps.

The boards creek.

The sobbing stops as quickly as it began, and William lifts his head. He can see Michael reflected on the television screen too.

He swallows and blinks slowly. "Michael. You're up late." His voice is controlled as always.

Michael swallows hard. "Yes sir…!"

"Is Elizabeth in bed?" His father asks coolly.

"Mhm."

"Very good. I worry if she gets enough sleep. Come over here son."

Michael walks shamefully over to the living room, trying not to look his father in the eye. He hasn't been able to since the incident.

His father pats the couch seat next to him, but he opts to stand leaning against the arm chair opposite him.

"Why are you up so late?"

"It's a weekend...I uh… just wanted to go out for some air… I'm having a hard time falling asleep." He runs a hand through his thick hair nervously, his hand staying over his right eye even after he's done with his hair.

"Ha! Cute excuse. You want to go meet your friends don’t you? Yes, teenagers are like this...” It’s hard to imagine his father was ever a teenager going out to parties and the likes. 

“Yeah…” He admits reluctantly.

“But how were you going to get there? You weren't going to try to steal my car keys _again,_ were you?".

There was a little… how we say, _disagreement_ last time he attempted that. He succeeded too! The plum coloured car was his for a whole evening, and only at the expense of his father slashing his cheek open with a kitchen knife. That was of course an accident- he was cutting up a slice of mystery meat in the kitchen when Michael thought it smart to run in and grab his keys off the kitchen table and make a break for the back door. Who knew his father, the robotics engineer, was so quick with a blade, and went straight for his face as he pulled the backdoor open.

_A mistake Mikey, you startled me! Quite frankly, you ought to be grateful all I did was cut your face when I could have reported you for theft._

"I wouldn't dream of it. Like I said, I'm going out for some air." That was mostly true. He would have just ridden his bike to the party, he would be late of course, but there was no concern for that. Had his father's coat been on the banister he certainly would have searched the pockets for his keys, but just his luck, he noticed them in the coffee table in front of him. 

"Let me drive you over to your friend's place." William takes the wrinkled papers on his clipboard off and folds them, shoving them in the inside pocket of his vest.

"Oh no- that's not necessary, I'm really looking forward to the night air and all."

"No- I insist. I only just got back so the car is still warm. Come on- aren't I being a good father right now in helping my son have some fun?" His stupid smile shows all of his teeth. Michael hates his smile and the teeth, no reasonable person should smile with that many teeth. Michael makes a conscious decision to never smile with his teeth, he already looks enough like his father.

"Sorry…" he apologizes for no good reason. "Thank you, for the offer."

“That’s a good boy.” He sneers.

William stands up and throws on his light grey jacket, it feels like the only thing he wears that's not purple or lavender- or god forbid violet or magenta. "Lets go!" He declares into the still air throwing the front door open and shutting it quickly behind him, leaving Michael alone in the dark entrance way to put lace up his beat up sneakers. He won't replace them because they're comfortable. He sits down on the ledge and takes a deep breath before stepping outside into the cool night air.

Michael tries to open the back door first, but William waves over to the passenger seat next to him. That door is unfortunately unlocked, so he has to sit next to him.

The car is clean as usual, but smells faintly of alcohol- did his father drink? That’s… particularly out of character. He sits down feeling more unsettled by his behaviour that evening than ever.

"Who's place this time? Do I know them?" he asks as they pull out of the driveway.

"Abigail's place by the lake." 

"Ah the Frosts. They do have quite the lovely estate."

Michael feels uneasy, but quiets those paranoid thoughts quickly. Things are going to be fine. He fiddles with the heavy metal zipper on his jacket, it's small but he likes the weight of it, it's cold texture somewhat comforting.

He notices the reddish brown on the cuff of his father's jacket. The fabric there has been bleached often, it's the only part that's not waterproof. Father has always been a bit of a neat freak, but maybe he's slacking on the bleach usage. It’s marinara sauce, of course.

He looks out the window silently and is suddenly a little grateful to have a ride because it's raining suddenly and he's not wearing a hoodie.

"Ha… it's cats and dogs out there." Michael just wants things to stop being awkward.

He's made the unfortunate decision of catching his father’s eyes in the car's front mirror, and for once he can see them, it's the same damn awful face he made when he split his cheek open. He's only just faintly scowling over his slightly parted lips.

The rain hits the roof of the car like a snare drum as they pull up to an intersection. There’s no one on the streets right now, but they wait in front of the ominous red light. His father is a good responsible driver.

“You know, I don’t think we ever had a proper talk about your brother.”

_Oh god._

“Your mother has already forgiven you, but I’m really more interested in this pattern of behaviour of yours.”

Michael slouches in his seat slightly and pulls his shoulders in. It’s been a while since they’ve had a car talk, specifically five years. These were never fun.

“Let’s see, you stole my wallet, you stole my car keys- and then my car, you used to get into fights at school, and now, you’ve killed your brother.” His father lists calmly. He stares out the window but doesn’t dare to turn his head all the way away. _Look at people when they speak to you, or else you’ll look mentally delayed_ his father used to say.

“This is an incredibly concerning pattern of behavior, and quite frankly, I’m at my wits end with you.”

They pull out from the intersection and turn onto the highway. Michael holds onto his seat as he feels William has taken the ramp a little faster than comfortable.

As they speed down the highway for a moment it’s silent.

“Are you even sorry about it?” His father asks, and Michael feels his throat seize up with fear.

“I-”

“Speak up.”

“Of course I am!” He nearly shouts. “You think I wanted to k-” He can’t say it.

“Kill him? Maybe not, but you definitely liked seeing him squirm.”

William slams his foot on the gas and they speed down the empty highway with abandon.

At first he sat and waited to see what was happening, but then Michael started to panic. "Dad what are you doing!" He yelps, too frightened to maintain the submissive tone he usually keeps to avoid his father's temper.

He clacks his teeth as they speed, there's the exit they need very soon, but if they miss it they'll wind up driving straight into the cement barrier.

"Dad slow down- you're going to get us killed!"

That seems to egg him on even further, Michael wants to fight for control of the wheel- but he thinks that that might endanger them both even more.

“Beg for your life Michael- _beg like your brother did before you killed him.”_

_No no no no not this again- why is it always about Ev-_

“I’m sorry- I’m sorry please- please stop- please don’t kill us- please don't kill me-” The words pour out of his mouth like

_Like the blood poured from his head into his fingers as he held onto him terrified and desperate-_

Suddenly, the brakes are slammed, Michael is launched head first into the console, barely catching himself on his arms. Why doesn't he wear a seat belt! His father seems to have caught his weight with just his legs and leaning back into his seat as they take the turn around the exit.

Michael starts sobbing as they pull over onto the gravel by the lake. As the car shuts down there's nothing but the quiet of night, the rain on the roof, the rhythmic thumping of the windshield wipers, and the sound of their shaky breathings.

William takes the keys out of the car and the lights fade out.

"Was that fun?"

"What were you thinking?!" Michael sobs, his fore arms bruised from impact. 

"A learning experience dear son. I think it would do well to teach you some empathy, now you know what it’s like to be so vulnerable."

"You...you…"

"Why I'm just finishing the job you started with your brother- you took away my son so I might as well take out the rest, collect the dead kids- ugh stop making that face!" He twisted his voice like he does for a character, the grating chipper american accent of Bonnie the Bunny degrades him.

How rich it is for him to complain about his face, he’s wearing _his_ face- his father is practically breathing down his neck, he's sure that he'd strangle him too were it not his hands were busy tapping to the beat of the windshield wipers.

“You’re crazy.” he gasps.

Michael is trembling now and feels sick. Why does it always have to come back down to Evan- why does he always bring him up- as much as William complains about his death, it's Michael and Elizabeth who seem to have been devastated. 

“Crazy? Don’t project, silly.”

He can smell it. He might not be crazy, but he’s definitely drunk.

Michael looks him in the eyes directly now and he can't avoid what he knows. This is the father he grew up with that his siblings didn’t get to know, how arrogant is he to assume that the man changed the moment Elizabeth was born.

"Jesus _Hache_ Christ Mikey, gimme a little sympathy- I couldn't help myself." He drops the accent in the last line. "Get out of my fucking car."

Michael stares in terror as he tries to unlock his door. It won't open.

" GET OUT!" His father yells.

"I can't- it's locked!" He cries, tears spilling out over his face again.

William cringes and sighs, reaching to click the unlock button. Michael quickly tumbles out into the rain. Watching as his father pulls back onto the road, speeding off in the opposite direction as their house he stands in shock.

His beat up sneakers fill with water, his hair slicks to his face and his fleece coat is going to be drenched. He shivers, and tries to continue walking the rest of the distance to shelter along the lake. At least his father didn’t try to drown him in the lake, and he laughs to himself at the idea. Only Michael Afton would think of something like that.


	2. White Picket Fences

1976

  
  


“Thanks for watching Michael for me Will.” His mother murmured to the strange man. She smiled softly and leaned in uncomfortably close to him.

“He is our son after all.” The man mumbled. He ran a hand over the side of her face gently before gently pushing her away. Letting go? Why is he touching his mother?

“I’ll be back at 4, Michael?”

He was already staring at them the whole time from the couch, chewing on the end of his sleeve. His eyes snapped to his mother as he leaned over the back of the couch.

“Play along nicely with your father, alright?”

_ Oh right, this guy is supposedly my dad.  _ He looked up at the man, who looked back with an empty expression.

“Okay…” He leaned further over the couch, arms swinging beneath him. She picked him up and pushed him back onto the sitting cushions before leaving a kiss on his forehead. 

“See you soon Mickey Mouse.”

Michael shook his head when she let go, messy dark brown hair falling across his face. “Don’t call me that!”

She giggled as she slipped on her shoes at the door and left with another energetic wave goodbye. When the door was shut the house was silent again.

Michael sat down on the couch, it felt like it wasn’t used very often, nothing in here did. The couches still smelled like factories, the steel and glass table was shiny like the buildings in the city when the window cleaners scaled the sides like geckos. The walls, all in a neutral blue grey wallpaper, vertical stripes with minimal floral design, and the small box television on a stand in the corner next to two bookshelves. Decked with big textbooks with big names, some classics, philosophy, Michael couldn’t make out most of it. Grown up people have terrible taste in books, nothing with pictures or colours.

Worst of all however, was the smell of the house. He thought, maybe he’d be greeted with something pleasant compared to the dusty air outside, but it’s worse in here. An almost intrusive cleanliness, while at the same time it felt neglected.

Michael slipped down the couch and sat down on the cold carpet, light grey tufts of yarn catching between his fingers before he grabbed his fox plush and started running it across the ground. It’s thin dangly legs were running through the light field of wheat, sharp nose sniffing along for something. He crawled along the ground in his jean overalls until he saw a shadow. Slowly his blue eyes drifted up to meet its owner.

The shadow man looked down at the boy with an almost contemptuous expression, staring rather intensely.  _ Two people can play at this game!  _ Micheal smirked and stared back, slowly closing one eye at a time to resist the need to blink. It wasn’t long however before he had to blink both his eyes. He scrunched his face up as he rolled on the floor before stopping suddenly when the man spoke.

“Get up. You’re going to get dirty on the floor.” His voice was even and controlled, like most adults are that way. How was he even to get dirty on the floor when there wasn’t any dirt on it to begin with? Adults say such nonsensical things like that all the time.

Maybe he was slow, he always felt like he was slow because adults get frustrated so quickly with him, and this one was no exception. He grabbed his arm and pulled him off the ground before picking the lint off of his t-shirt. It’s not his fault, his mother picked the shirt out and it gets sweaty too easily and attracts lint like moths to light.

“Now, behave yourself, understand? Your mother will be back later. You brought things to keep yourself busy, right?” Michael suddenly realised that the strange man didn’t speak like the rest of the people here. He’s not a cowboy, he spoke like him and his mother.

“Are you really my dad?” He blurted out. They did have similar hair, and he had blue eyes too, unlike his mother, ginger and green eyed. Most adults look about the same to him though, he remembered a horribly embarrassing event. At church, he was supposed to go find one person, but ended up asking another. Everyone laughed at him, but he was really upset and embarrassed. 

“Yes, I am.” He looked to the side as if almost ashamed.

“Where were you when I was one, and two, and three, and four?” Michael was five.

“Busy.” He replied simply. “It’s rude to ask so many questions.”

_ What’s his name?  _ He wouldn’t call him dad or daddy, those are too familiar.

“Is your name Bill?”

“William.” He was most certainly irritated by now. 

“William Reynolds.”

“No, that’s your mother’s last name. Mine is Afton.”

“How do we have different last names if you’re my dad?”

“Your last name should be Afton too once your mother and I are married.”

“You’re not married?!” Michael gasped. “Wait! But then how did I- you- me?” Questions questions questions! There’s no end to his questions!

“Stop. You’re being rude. Sit down on the couch and be quiet while I prepare lunch.” William ordered. Michael stared at him for a moment before sitting down on the couch with a huff. “And be gentle with the furniture.”

Michael threw his fox plush into the ground and lay on his back. The house was so damn quiet and dark, it was hardly a house and certainly not a home. The air conditioner was probably at the max, and with half good reason considering the heat outside, but it wasn’t the same as just running a standing fan and opening a window. The crickets singing, the sound of passing cars, and the loud whirring of the blades gave a house character in the summer. The gentle breeze that might rustle curtains, windchimes like at grandmother’s house, these are the songs of summer.

And there’s no melody in this house. He finally got up and started walking around the room, inspecting everything carefully. The glass table picked up his finger prints when he touched it, and in the basket underneath was a few tapes with labels written in longhand, a video recorder, and a pile of catalogues. He flipped through it, but there was nothing interesting, especially no toys to look at. He looked over the bookshelves, and tried to figure out the title of a book’s meaning before he gave up.

And then he saw it.

A shiny record player and a stand of records- so this man is a real human after all and not just a robot. Music would certainly liven up the place. He carefully slid a plate out of it’s sleeve but his clumsy fingers dropped it and it started rolling across the dark hardwood floor. The sound was a lot louder than he expected, and it seems that the other person in the house noticed it too. While he stared and watched the disk roll, William walked out of the kitchen, still wiping his hands on a towel with a stern expression, and picked it up.

“You shouldn’t touch other people’s things Michael.” 

“I just wanted to play some music…” He looked off to the side as he held his fox by just one leg.

“Fine…” William dusted the plate off and set it down on the player. Michael watched as he hit the buttons and soon some quiet music was playing. He jumped around in excitement and threw himself onto the couch, which earned another sharp glare but he didn’t notice. His favourite part of this song was the xylophone part- but then the guitar riff sounded cool too! He waved his arms around to the music, and perhaps the strange man smirked a little before going back to the kitchen. He couldn’t possibly be his dad, he’s too lame, but at least the music he likes is good.

_ The living room is sad appropriation of what it once was. Even with the warm light bulbs in the lamps and the dark vertical blinds replaced with homely white lace curtains, it doesn’t contain the life it once did. The amount of times the police have been through this house has left the room dead and impersonal.  _

_ The first time Henry came over with a pie, Michael tasted life. His contagious joy affected even his corpse of a father, and it spread like disease until the whole house was in that same golden glow. Evan and Elizabeth had the pleasure of growing up where the sun shone brightly, and mother and father would hold them in their warm embrace during the winter, and would smile at them kindly in the summer, but his frostbite never really healed.  _

_ Now standing in the center of the living room, he pinches himself, and it’s like none of that ever happened. The pies were a lie as much as the lightbulbs, stupid warm halogens that could probably light the whole place on fire- _

_ And yet he’s the one who’s still alive. _

“Michael. Come here.”

He looked up quickly from his playing to see the strange man standing in the doorway to the living room.

“Lunch.” he said.

Michael got up and walked into the kitchen, looking at what was layed out. A salad, toasted cheese melt sandwiches, and a jar of pickled hot peppers, it actually looked quite good.

“Would you like a drink?” William got two glasses from the cupboard. All of his dishes were plain white porcelain, glass or steel, the same monotonous sterile style as the rest of the house.

“Yes!”

“Yes  _ please. _ ” He corrected.

“Yes please…” 

“Water or lemonade.”

“Lemonade!”

“Thought you would…” Was that almost amusing? Or just satisfaction in having guessed. He poured two glasses of lemonade and put them on opposite ends of the small square table.

“Help yourself to whatever you’d like.” William gestured at the spread before helping himself to some salad. Adults like boring food like that, the pepperoni cheese melt was what caught Michael’s attention. Like a pizza, but a sandwich! 

“What grade are you in Michael?”

“Grade?”   
“What year of school?”

“I’m…” he started counting on his fingers. “I don’t go to school?”

“You’re not in school? Don’t five year olds go to school?” William looked as clueless as Michael, and he tried to count out how old he must have been when he started school.

“What grade are you in?”

“I’m not a student, I have a job.”

“What do you do?”

“I work at a dentist’s office.”

“You’re a dentist?!” Michael shut his mouth quickly, he didn’t brush his teeth that morning, and was worried that he would notice. 

“No, no, I just work for a dentist, I’m a secretary.” 

William started picking out some peppers of the pickled peppers. Michael watched intensely, pinching his nose when he smelled the vinegar and brine.

“Don’t make a face like that, or it will get stuck like that.”

Michael pouted. “Stop bossing me. You’re not my mum.”

“Yes, but I am your father.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Awkward silence filled the room. Michael wasn’t self aware enough to really understand the ramification of his words, and kept chewing on his sandwich.

“I’ll tell you then boy, I never wanted you to be born.” William spoke finally. “I never loved your mother, I never wanted to have a child with her, and certainly don't want you. But I am good and generous, and I will provide so that you can have a suitable life, so you better be grateful.” Mechanically, he lifted his glass to his mouth and sipped the lemonade without taking his eyes off Michael.

“Well, I don’t want you for a dad either! You’re boring and weird!” His mouth full of sandwich he got up from the table and walked away with the fox tucked under his arm. He didn’t need to eat this stuff anyways, he had a box of raisins in his backpack anyways.

As he stomped away, he was stopped by a sudden noise. William slammed his hands on the dinner table before raising his voice. “Michael.” Just his name rang out through the kitchen. He took a deep breath before returning to a more level tone.

“Imagine how upset your mother will be with me if she finds out you didn’t eat. Sit back down and finish your food. Now.”

Michael turned around slowly with wide eyes and slowly walked back to the table, sitting down silently waiting for the man to sit down too.

“I’m sorry I raised my voice. Now eat your lunch and then you can watch cartoons afterwards.” As if to try to make amends for what he’d already done.

Suddenly the mozzarella and pepperoni melt didn’t taste as good. He ate as quickly as possible, without getting a glare of disapproval, and quickly tried to slip away when his plate and glass were empty.

“Wash your hands first, you can use the bathroom over there.” He gestured to a door just a few paces away from the entrance to the kitchen.

Michael nodded and walked over to the bathroom, slamming the door lightly when he was in.

_ The pink pastel tiles of the bathroom look sick, he sneaked a glance at it all before he was ushered away, maybe he shouldn’t have looked. He certainly shouldn’t have looked, but he had to see, and he had to know. He can’t trust him, he couldn’t trust him at all, ever. Never again, never should have. It’s all a facade, and no amount of floral decor and lace curtains can mask what happened here.  _

_ His mother could not have done that, she would not have done that. _

_ Cherry red pooling in her lap, head slumped over, how could this be true, she couldn’t have. _

_ His father is crying on the shoulder of a police officer, Clay Burke, he’s given him and a few delinquent leaning kids a few lectures before, that’s how he knows his name. He looks painfully uncomfortable as his mockery of father cries, blaming himself, but then Michael. _

_ “It hasn’t been the same since, oh god since Evan, but Elizabeth was the last straw, and Michael has been so difficult, I don’t blame her, but god I should have been there, I didn’t think she would actually-” _

_ He has his own handkerchief for crying- could this look any more rehearsed?  _

_ Clay finally pushes William off of him and reluctantly gives him a pat on the back before calling in ‘support’. The kind of disgust his face shows for his delicate dandy father is only rivalled by his nearly painful looking pity.  
_

_ “Michael.” _

_ “Officer Burke…” He mumbles as he comes closer. _

_ “You doin’ alright boy? Your home life I mean.” _

_ “Yea, it’s fine…Well… I mean, as fine as, I mean-” The stiff pat on his shoulder tells him to shut up.  
_

_ “You treat your father well, alright? Don’t give him anymore trouble than he’s already got, you’re all each other has left now boy.” _

He didn’t want to move away from England, he liked it fine living in the city with his friends, but mother insisted they come here to Utah (what kind of a name is that anyways?) because what? This loser?

He’s not his dad. He doesn’t have a dad. He’s more like a vampire or a robot, hardly seems real, just like the rest of the house! Even that bathroom, with the humming incandescent lights and stench of cleaning fluid, none of this felt like a home. He missed his grandmother’s house in the country, he missed Uncle Scott, their roommate, all for what? This place?

Maybe he doesn’t care that much, he is just a kid after all, and he doesn’t even have that many memories of his old home, but this new place is completely alien. He cried a lot the first set of nightmares, but now he was just moody and confused and upset and-

He splashed water on his face and pulled his fox plush out of the pocket in his overalls and looked into it’s dark beady eyes.

“Fox… you’re not boring like the grown ups.” Fox likes running free in the woods, and jumping from car to car on the highway, and flying among the clouds when he’s stuck in the airplane, Fox knows how to have fun. 

He sat on the lid of the toilet for a moment, and wondered what to do. His mother wouldn’t be back for a while, but he didn’t want to hang out with this loser. Nevermind that, he hardly had a choice did he? He never had a choice, it was as mother says, and now as father says. It’s just the way it is.

Finally he got up after washing his hands and walked through back to the kitchen, only to find the man gone. He looked to the living room, where he was putting away the vinyl carefully and straightening out the furniture as if he had actually caused that much damage. He turned on the television and flipped through the channels until it finally landed on a colourful cartoon. 

“How’s this?”

Michael nodded silently, sitting down on the furthest end of the couch from the armchair William sat in. He put his backpack on his lap and started looking for his drawing pad and crayons. He was working on a drawing of pirates, evil ones with big beards and 15 peg legs each! Fox was beating them all up of course, with his giant fire sword. Swashbuckle that!

Michael couldn’t help but notice the man’s glare from a few metres away as he tried to keep his eyes on his drawing or the television. He couldn’t tell if he was mad, or smiling, he didn’t dare look him in the eye. He wouldn’t want to upset him, or his mother. Not mummy. That’s right, he has to pretend to get along with him because mummy loves him. That has to be it.

They must be soulmates if she travelled all this way with him to find him. Mother is smart, but picking him for a soulmate isn’t great.

He raises a hand to his face to cover his eyes and glances between his fingers to look over at the armchair. William wasn’t actually staring at him, he was reading. One of those boring grown up books with a white cover and a words only text. Michael felt a little ashamed for assuming he was staring at him, but he still felt uncomfortable, and sat as far away from him as possible. He’s a stranger, why did his mother leave him with a stranger?

The noise of the cartoon catches his attention and the bright lights and grainy graphics are designed for children to be captivated.

It’s the Tom and Jerry show, he liked that show quite a lot, with the bright but playful mouse, and the scheming yet foolish cat, it’s a fun amusement. Especially the violence!

When was his mother going to come back, he opened his mouth to ask but he didn’t have a moment to get a word in before the man started talking again. 

“What do children like, Michael?”

He starred confused and blinked a few times, not having an answer. “I don’t know…”

“Well what do  _ you _ like?” William pressed, jotting notes into a book? No, that's a journal. 

“I like robots, and pirates, and foxes, and space, and comic books, and-” Michael gasped like little children do when they’re listing things, unable to pace themselves and over excited.

“Slow down. Robots, and pirates, and foxes-”

“And bikes! I want a bike!” He kicked his legs excitedly as he revved an imaginary motorcycle. Carelessly, he hit the glass top table, a resounding ring resonating upon impact. He stopped and stared at his foot and the table, then at the man.

“I’m sorry-”

“Don’t kick your legs like that. You’ll look mentally delayed and break things.” This last statement was particularly spiteful, his face contorting as he practically spat the last word. Michael tried to sputter something in after that but couldn’t find anything to say.

“You don’t want to look stupid do you?” 

He shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

“If you’re sorry you’ll do something about it.” He looked back down at his book and the conversation was deemed over.

How could they sit in this tension? Someone had to move, there was no forgiveness, just the hanging hatred, why did he hate him so much? He didn’t ask to be born either, he never asked his mother about his father, they didn’t have to be here and they didn’t have to inconvenience the bitter man in the arm chair he was expected to call  _ dad _ ? 

He started crying.

Now William was furious and frightened all at once.

“Stop crying.” He said once.

“Stop crying.” Stronger, but also weaker.

Michael sniffled as he started to wail.

“Why are you crying- stop- Stop!” He shouted and Michael sobbed harder.

“You sound like an animal, what if the neighbours call animal control?!” The nearest neighbor was 100 metres away, but it still stung to be compared to an animal.

He grabbed Michael by the shoulders and nearly shook him, but hesitated. He hiccuped, looking up at William through watery eyes.

“I’m sorryyyyy…” He whined, falling into his arms.

“What-”

Before either of them knew what was happening, Michael was crying into his teal and violet plaid button up, falling into the ground as he hugged him. A stranger.

“There there, stop crying now, there’s nothing to cry about.” He loosened his grip on Michael and started patting his back slowly. Carefully, he picked the boy up and sat him back onto the couch.

“Now, please be more aware of your surroundings, but do  _ not _ cry, you’ll make me cry too.”

“Grown ups can’t cry…” Michael choked out.

“You’d be surprised.”  _ His father said. _

_ “Michael.” _

_ “Father.” No more dad, father is hardly a title he deserves anyways. Mr. Afton might be a more appropriate way to address the man in front of him. _

_ “Do you see what happens now? To liars? To conspirators? Do you understand?” _

_ “Yea…” _

_ They can see eye to eye now, Michael is as tall as him now and it’s awkward. Then again, he is nearly an adult. He hates how much they look alike, he does everything he can to not look like him, so he straightens his hair and wears it longer, he slouches and even tries not to smile like him. _

_ William steps closer to Michael and for a moment he’s frightened. It’s just a hug, but he can’t relax. God make this hug end, make it end! He’s holding onto him a little too tight, let go let go! _

_ “Good boy, I love you. You’re very strong.”  _

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please listen to Will Wood's normal album it summarizes the ambiguous thoughts in my head better than anything i could ever write  
> anyways i wont post again for like ever because that the end of the saved up stuff i think.


End file.
